Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"Who knows the diameter of Mars? Or shall I ask Gay?"

Hilda answered, "Six thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers, near enough."

Plenty near enough for Zebadiah's estimates. Zebadiah said, "Sharpie! How did you happen to know that?"

"I read comic books. You know-'Zap! Polaris is missing."

"I don't read comic books."

"Lots of interesting things in comic books, Zebbie. I thought the Aerospace Force used comic-book instruction manuals."

My darling's ears turned red. "Some are," he admitted, "but they are edited for technical accuracy. Hmm- Maybe I had better check that figure with Gay."

I love my husband but sometimes women must stick together. "Don't bother, Zebadiah," I said in chilly tones. "Aunt Hilda is correct. The polar diameter of Mars is six seven five two point eight plus. But surely three significant figures is enough for your data."

Zebadiah did not answer....ut did not ask his computer. Instead he said, "Copilot, will you run it off on your pocket calculator? We can treat it as a tangent at this distance."

This time I didn't even try to keep still. Zebadiah's surprise that Hilda knew anything about astronomy caused me pique. "Our height above surface is one hundred four thousand six hundred and seventy-two kilometers plus or minus the error of the data supplied. That assumes that Mars is spherical and ignores the edge effect or horizon bulge....egligible for the quality of your data."

Zebadiah answered so gently that I was sorry that I had shown off: "Thank you, Deety. Would you care to calculate the time to fall to surface from rest at this point?"

"That's an unsmooth integral, sir. I can approximate it but Gay can do it faster and more accurately. Why not ask her? But it will be many hours."

"I had hoped to take a better look. Jake, Gay has enough juice to put us into a tight orbit, I think... but I don't know where or when I'll be able to juice her again. If we simply fall, the air will get stale and we'll need the panic button-or some maneuver-without ever seeing the surface close up."

"Captain, would it suit you to read the diameter again? I don't think we've simply been falling."

Pop and Zebadiah got busy again. I let them alone, and they ran even the simplest computations through Gay. Presently, Pop said, "Over twenty-four kilometers per second! Captain, at that rate we'll be there in a little over an hour."

"Except that we'll scram before that. But, ladies, you'll get your closer look. Dead sea bottoms and green giants. If any."

"Zebadiah, twenty-four kilometers per second is Mars' orbital speed."

My father answered, "Eh? Why, so it is!" He looked very puzzled, then said, "Captain-I confess to a foolish mistake."

"Not one that will keep us from getting home, I hope."

"No, sir. I'm still learning what our continua craft can do. Captain, we did not aim for Mars."

"I know. I was chicken."

"No, sir, you were properly cautious. We aimed for a specific point in empty space. We transited to that point... but not with Mars' proper motion. With that of the Solar System, yes. With Earth's motions subtracted; that is in the program. But we are a short distance ahead of Mars in its orbit... so it is rushing toward us."

"Does that mean we can never land on any planet but Earth?"

"Not at all. Any vector can be included in the program-either before or after transition, translation or rotation. Any subsequent change in motion is taken into account by the inertial integrator. But I am learning that we still have things to learn."

"Jake, that is true even of a bicycle. Quit worrying and enjoy the ride. Brother, what a view!"

"Jake, that doesn't look like the photographs the Mars Expedition brought back."

"Of course not," said Aunt Hilda. "I said it was Barsoom."

I kept my mouth shut. Ever since Dr. Sagan's photographs anyone who reads The National Geographic-or anything-knows what Mars looks like. But when it involves changing male minds, it is better to let men reach their own decisions; they become somewhat less pig-headed. That planet rushing toward us was not the Mars of our native sky. White clouds at the caps, big green areas that had to be forest or crops, one deep blue area that almost certainly was water-all this against ruddy shades that dominated much of the planet.

What was lacking were the rugged mountains and craters and canyons of "our" planet Mars. There were mountains-but nothing like the Devil's Junkyard known to science.

I heard Zebadiah say, "Copilot, are you certain you took us to Mars?"

"Captain, I took us to Mars-ten, via plus on Tau axis. Either that or I'm a patient in a locked ward."

"Take it easy, Jake. It doesn't resemble Mars as much as Earth-ten resembles Earth."

"Uh, may I point out that we saw just a bit of Earth-ten, on a moonless night?"

"Meaning we didn't see it. Conceded."

Aunt Hilda said, "I told you it was Barsoom. You wouldn't listen."

"Hilda, I apologize. 'Barsoom.' Copilot, log it. New planet, 'Barsoom,' named by right of discovery by Hilda Corners Burroughs, Science Officer of Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We'll all witness: Z. J. Carter, Commanding-Jacob J. Burroughs, Chief Officer-D. T. B. Carter, uh, Astrogator. I'll send certified copies to Harvard Observatory as soon as possible."

"I'm not astrogator, Zebadiah!"

"Mutiny. Who reprogrammed this cloud buster into a continua craft? I'm pilot until I can train all of you in Gay's little quirks. Jake is copilot until he can train more copilots in setting the verniers. You are astrogator because nobody else can acquire your special knowledge of programming and skill at calculation. None of your lip, young woman, and don't fight the Law of Space. Sharpie is chief of science because of her breadth of knowledge. She not only recognized a new planet as not being Mars quicker than anyone else but carved up that double-joined alien with the skill of a born butcher. Right, Jake?"

"Sure thing!" agreed Pop.

"Cap'n Zebbie," Aunt Hilda drawled, "I'm science officer if you say so. But I had better be ship's cook, too. And cabin boy."

"Certainly, we all have to wear more than one hat. Log it, Copilot. 'Here's to our jolly cabin girl, the plucky little nipper-'"

"Don't finish it. Zebbie," Aunt Hilda cut in, "I don't like the way the plot develops."

'-she carves fake ranger,

Dubs planet stranger,

And dazzles crew and skipper."

Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. "That's not the classic version. I like the sentiment better... though the scansion limps."

"Sharpie darling, you are a floccinaucinihilipilificatrix." "Is that a compliment?"

'Certainly! Means you're so sharp you spot the slightest flaw."

I kept quiet. It was possible that Zebadiah meant it as a compliment. Just barely- "Maybe I'd better check it in a dictionary."

"By all means, dear-after you are off watch." (I dismissed the matter. Merriam Microfilm was all we had aboard and Aunt Hilda would not find that word in anything less than the O.E.D.)

"Copilot, got it logged?"

"Captain, I didn't know we had a log."

"No log? Even Vanderdecken keeps a log. Deety, the log falls in your department. Take your father's notes, get what you need from Gay, and let's have a taut ship. First time we pass a Woolworth's we'll pick up a journal and you can transcribe it-notes taken now are your rough log."

"Aye aye, sir. Tyrant."

"Tyrant,' sir, please. Meanwhile let's share the binoculars and see if we can spot any colorful exotic natives in colorful exotic costumes singing colorful exotic songs with their colorful exotic hands out for baksheesh. First one to spot evidence of intelligent life gets to wash the dishes."

"We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it."

Hilda:

I was so flattered by Cap'n Zebbie's crediting me with "discovering" Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in "our" universe. Zebbie is a funny one-he wears rudeness like a Hallowe'en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.